


The Influence of Butterbeer

by willowwand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Hogwarts Era, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-29
Updated: 2006-06-29
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowwand/pseuds/willowwand
Summary: Harry supposed he would just have to wait to see what happened under the influence of butterbeer...HBP U.S. edition pp 283-4One year later, Ron and Hermione see what a couple bottles of butterbeer and an overabundance of UST can do.





	The Influence of Butterbeer

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

The Influence of Butterbeer

 

*~*

 

Hermione knew all about Everlasting Elixirs. 

 

They had learned about them in Advanced Potions last year and she’d even received top marks on an essay the class been assigned on the subject. It had taken two rolls of parchment and even then, Hermione had been sure she could have explained a few things in a bit more detail. Professor Slughorn had told the class that the NEWT examiners were sure to ask them to brew up one on their Potions practical and with the NEWTs fast approaching –seven months was hardly enough time to study for an exam so important –she really needed the refresher.  Nevertheless, if anyone had asked her anything about Everlasting Elixirs at that moment, Hermione wouldn’t have been able to come up with a proper answer, even with her potions book sitting open on her lap. She shifted in cushy armchair she was sitting in and reached for her bottle of butterbeer for the umpteenth time that night. She hoped no one noticed fact that she had mindlessly read the same paragraph in her book for the past half hour as she took a careful sip of her drink. She allowed her eyes to flicker briefly on the source of her distraction. The only person she knew that could possibly drive all thoughts of studying and examinations from her mind.

 

Ron. 

 

He never looked more gorgeous than after he played a Quidditch match. After the match that morning, his cheeks had been pale, as the cold wind had whipped harshly against his freckled skin for too long. Now the combination of the warmth radiating from the common room fireplace and the butterbeer he’d been downing in large gulps flushed his cheeks with color. 

 

He’d obviously taken a shower after the match, as his hair was damp.  In a way, Hermione was happy that he had showered. After most practices and matches he’d often come tracking mud into the common room, his Quidditch robes soaked with sweat. Now he looked fresh and relaxed in a slightly shabby, yet clean Weasley jumper and faded jeans. However, Hermione had to admit she somewhat liked it when he sweat, though it conjured up images that best friends probably shouldn’t have about each other.  She sighed heavily and turned back to her book knowing that she’d hardly be able to concentrate on Elixirs when she had images of a sweaty, shirtless Ron on her mind.

 

Across the room, Ron was engaged in a half-hearted conversation with Jimmy Peakes, one of the Gryffindor Beaters, and a couple of his fourth year mates. More truthfully, he was trying to watch Hermione without making it obvious that he was watching her. 

 

She was reading a book. No surprises there. But it was the oddest thing. He could have _sworn_ she was faking. She didn’t have the same look of intense concentration on her face that she always did when she read. Neither did she have the look of extreme irritation she often wore when she was trying to read and was distracted by noise in the common room. 

 

He watched her eyes move back and forth across the page. Then, every few minutes, she’d grab for her bottle of butterbeer and raise it to her lips. He had to stifle a groan every time she wrapped her perfect lips around the mouth of the bottle and tiled her head back to drink, exposing her smooth, white neck. 

 

He had hoped, really hoped that he’d finally be able to pluck up the courage to do something about their relationship. He fancied her like mad. Spending months snogging the wrong girl only made him realize how much he desperately wanted to be with Hermione. But he was a coward, a right shitty Gryffindor. It had been months since he and Lavender had split. Months since he’d resolved to do something, anything to make Hermione see how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. 

 

They hadn’t had much time to be alone together. She seemed to be working around the clock on either research to help Harry find the horcruxes or studying for NEWTs. Something else always got in the way, and often times Ron let it get in the way simply out of his own cowardice. This was getting ridiculous. 

 

After this morning’s match, Hermione had met him the moment he landed onto the frozen pitch and threw her arms around his neck. He had hugged her back. She felt so warm even after she’d been sitting up in the stands all morning. That gesture, something she did after every match, this time left him wanting more. He wanted to hold her and kiss her whenever he wanted, or at least whenever she’d let him. 

 

He took his time after the match, taking a shower and changing into his least ratty jumper. He walked into the common room expecting to see Harry and Hermione waiting for him. Harry was nowhere to be found, probably off snogging Ginny.  He spotted Hermione sitting alone reading by the fireplace and had been on his way over to her when Peakes had ambushed him.

 

Hermione finally looked up from her book, noticing Ron staring in her direction. At once, he felt this ears begin to get warm. She’d caught him. At least now, though, it gave him an excuse to go over and talk to her. He shook his head, remembering that he didn’t need a reason, they were best mates. Just friends. Unfortunately, his body disagreed. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, his mouth was dry and his palms were sweating like mad. 

 

Hermione was having a similar battle with herself. She watched him approaching her through her thick eyelashes, and her stomach wriggled uncomfortably. She looked up and gave him what she hoped looked like a warm smile and not a fearful grimace. He smiled back and they both breathed an inner sigh of relief.  They were friends after all, of what was there to be nervous?

 

_Everything_.

 

“Hey, Hermione,” Ron said, casually. “Where’s Harry?”

 

“Oh, I, er, saw him and Ginny leave a while ago,” she said, blushing slightly.

 

Ron frowned. “Oh.”

 

She gave him an odd look and bent over her book again.

 

“What’s this? Reading at a party?” he said, plucking the book from her hands.

 

“Ron, we have our NEWTs this year…” Hermione protested more out of habit than anything else, as she had actually stopped trying to read the book ages ago. 

 

“And you’ve been studying day and night for months. Don’t you think you should take a little break?”

 

She frowned and grabbed for her book. She was grateful he was teasing her. Now she could pretend to be irritated and maybe the feeling of a thousand pixies flying around in her stomach would go away.

 

 “I’ve taken enough time today by going to the match.”

 

“You didn’t have to come,” Ron said, sulkily.

 

Hermione’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean that, Ron. I wanted to go, of course. You were brilliant today. I just can’t…”

 

He blushed a little at her compliment but argued nonetheless. “Can’t what, Hermione? You’re the cleverest student in the school.  You’re going to blow everyone away on your NEWTs. It wouldn’t hurt you to take one full day off.”

 

She shifted a bit in her chair, clearly thinking it over. “Oh, all right, but tomorrow you, Harry and I are spending the entire day in the library.”

 

“Hermione…” he protested.

 

“It wouldn’t hurt you to pick up a book once in awhile, Ron.”

 

“Oi! I read!”

 

“What do you read? Those Mad Muggle comic books?” 

 

“No, I read books too.”

 

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. 

 

“I do,” he insisted.

 

“Ron, I’ve never seen you read anything if it wasn’t for class, and even then you won’t unless I badger you for at least an hour,” she argued.

 

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just don’t read when you’re around?”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” she responded. “Why would my presence prevent you from reading?”

 

“Why would I waste my time reading when you’re around? I’d much rather spend that time talking to you,” Ron shouted. 

 

Hermione’s eyes got very wide and Ron felt his breath catch in his throat.  His ears grew very red as what he had just said hit him full force. “A-and Harry,” he added, lamely.

 

She looked a little put out. “Is that what you think? That I’d rather read than talk to you.”

 

Ron shrugged.

 

“Ronald Weasley that is the…”

 

But he didn’t get to hear the rest of what she was saying as a group of Gryffindor boys singing a loud and rather crude drinking song led by Seamus Finnegan suddenly drowned her out. Hermione snapped her head around and glared at the Irishman who paid her absolutely no attention. Ron knew she was trying to figure out whether he had managed to sneak something stronger than butterbeer into the party. Clearly, he had, but Ron didn’t want her to waste all night trying to figure out where he’d hidden the bottles and other such nonsense.

 

“Let’s get out of here,” he shouted over the din.  

 

She was still scowling at Seamus. “What?”

 

“I said…oh, bugger! Come on,” he yelled, pulling Hermione by the hand. 

 

She was startled by the sensation of his large, warm hand surrounding hers. The pixies began wriggling once more. 

 

“What are you…where are we going?” she asked, as he half-dragged her across the common room. 

 

Ron grabbed an armful of unopened butterbeers from a table and pulled her toward the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. 

 

“Come on,” he repeated as he began climbing the stairs.

 

Hermione hesitated. It was silly really. She had been up there on numerous occasions, though never with _only_ Ron. This was ridiculous. What did she think was going to happen? He _just_ wanted to talk. They were _just_ friends. She went up the stairs after him. He was waiting for her just inside the door to the seventh year boys’ dormitory.

 

“I thought it would be quieter up here,” Ron said. He was trying not to let his embarrassment show, because the moment he’d reached the door of his dormitory he’d realized that he and Hermione were going to be up there all alone. Without warning, everything he’d ever fanaticized doing with her up in that room flashed through his mind. He was sure that she wouldn’t be thinking of anything like that. They were just friends. 

 

Hermione smiled weakly and walked past him into the room. He left the door open a little, hoping the gesture would show her that he was not expecting anything _unseemly_ to happen. She noticed and felt a different twinge in her stomach, partly of relief and partly of disappointment. 

 

“Er, have a seat,” Ron said, gesturing to his bed. 

 

She sat down on the edge of his bed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He hadn’t made his bed and images of him lying in just his boxer shorts underneath these sheets sprang into her head.

 

“It is a lot quieter up here,” she admitted.

 

Ron nodded and sat beside her, careful not to sit close enough to touch her. For a few minutes, they sat in silence, sipping at their drinks and smiling nervously at each other.  

 

“So what do you read?” Hermione finally asked.

 

“What?”

 

“What books do you like to read?”

 

“Oh, er, you know, Quidditch books and stuff,” he said, evasively.

 

Hermione looked at him shrewdly. “Are you lying to me?”

 

“No, you’ve heard me talk to Harry about _Flying with the Cannons_ before,” he said.

 

“You’re hiding something. Tell me.”

 

“It’s just…” Ron hesitated. “My dad likes to bring home Muggle books and there was one I read not too long ago that I really liked.”

 

“What was it?” she asked, smiling at the thought of Ron possibly having read one of the same books she had read.

 

“ _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ ,” he said, looking earnestly at her face to see if she knew of it.

 

“Sherlock Holmes?” Hermione asked.

 

Ron nodded, still looking at her uncertainly.

 

“Oh, that’s a great book,” she said, beaming.

 

Ron smiled. “I reckon if he had been a wizard he’d have been an auror. Plus, there’s a Grim in the story and everything.”

 

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” she asked.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

 

“Ron...”

 

“I thought,” Ron sighed. “If you’d heard of it, maybe you’d think it was rubbish.”

 

“No, that’s a very good book,” Hermione asked, practically bouncing in excitement.

 “Have you read any other Muggle books?” 

 

Ron wanted to laugh at the way her eyes lit up at the mention of books, particularly books she had read.

 

“Well, Mum used to read me and Ginny one about a bear when we were very little,” Ron said, the tips of his ears turning red. “ _Winnie the Pooh_ , heard of it?”

 

“That was my favorite book when I was four,” she gasped. 

 

“Bet you could read it all by yourself by then and everything,” he teased, laughing at the thought of a bossy, bushy-haired four-year-old Hermione.

 

She blushed. 

 

“You could, couldn’t you?” he gasped.

 

“Well, not all the words,” she said softly.

 

“Blimey, you were brilliant even when you were titchy,” he said, in amazement.

 

“Ron, that hardly makes me brilliant.”

 

He swallowed hard. “There are a lot of things that make you brilliant.”

 

Hermione was positive that her face must have been magenta at this point. She couldn’t figure out what he was playing at. With him looking at her so intently along with the slight dizzy feeling from the butterbeer she’d been drinking all night, she felt every single one of her defenses crumbling. This was dangerous territory. The last time she’d felt like this was about a year ago when she’d invited him to Slughorn’s Christmas party. 

 

“M-maybe, we should go back down,” she said, looking away. “They’ve probably settled down a bit since then.”

 

Ron felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Of, of course. If that’s what you want.”

 

“I mean, I shouldn’t even really be up here,” she continued, her heart sinking into her stomach. 

 

“It’s never stopped you before,” Ron said dejectedly. 

 

She lifted her eyes to meet his and was surprised to see him looking so hurt. The last time she remembered him looking this way was after Harry’s name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. She got to her feet and made to leave when he caught her by the arm. She spun around to face him.

 

“Ron,” she whispered, his name sounding more like a whimper than anything else.

 

He let out a shaky breath. “Don’t go.”

 

Three years of tension were building to this moment, volatile and unstable. The release was quick, like the snap of a rubber band or the crack of a whip. Ron and Hermione found themselves in each other’s arms, though neither of them could remember how they got there or who kissed whom first. That hardly mattered. All that mattered was that they were kissing, and it was the most thrilling and amazing thing to ever happen to either of them. Ron pulled Hermione onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, running her hand up the back of his neck and into his ginger hair. His hands were buried deep in her bushy curls. He had no idea whether he was kissing her well, all he knew was her lips were pressing against his, her tongue was tangling with his and he couldn’t get enough.

 

He lay back on his bed and pulled her down on top of him. She slid her hand through his hair and cupped his cheek with her hand. Her hand was so soft, so delicate. He wished he had shaved after the match, as he was sure his stubble was irritating her soft skin.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled against her mouth.

 

“Why?” she asked breathlessly.

 

“Didn’t shave,” he said, pulling away uncertainly.

 

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, playing with the hair that fell to the back of his neck. “I rather like it.”

 

Ron crushed his mouth to hers again, this time holding her face between his hands reverently. Hermione moaned into his mouth, and in response, he flipped her onto her back and continued kissing her hard, though he was careful not to crush her with his body. 

 

He nearly died when she felt her hands creep up the back of this jumper, sliding lazily along his lower back.  He wondered how she’d respond to him doing a bit of his own exploration. He kissed her jaw line, trailing kisses down to her neck. 

 

Hermione moaned a lot louder this time. He placed his hand on her hip and let it creep up her side. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he felt the slight swell of her breast. He trailed his back down to her waist, and then moved it slowly up her side again, letting his hand linger slightly at the side of her breast.  

 

“Is this…is this okay?” he asked. 

 

She nodded, a dazed expression on her face. They kissed again. Her hands reached for the hem of his jumper and pulled it up. He broke their kiss briefly as he helped her lift it over his head and tossed it across the room. Ron was ecstatic that he had been unable to find a clear undershirt earlier and had opted to go without one, because there was surely no better feeling than Hermione’s small hands gliding over his chest so affectionately. She ran her fingers curiously over his skin, connecting his freckles with invisible lines. 

 

His hands were itching to touch her in the same way. He wanted to make her moan again. He ran his hands again up her sides again, letting his hands linger around her ribcage before sliding back down to her hips. 

 

“Ron, it’s okay,” she said, shyly. “Y-you can, if you want to.”

 

He swallowed hard, knowing his eyes were probably twice their normal size. He moved his hands up her belly. Shaking slightly he pushed her jumper up to just below her breasts, savoring the feel of her creamy skin. It wasn’t enough and the look on Hermione’s face told him it wasn’t enough for her either. He slid his hands underneath her jumper and ran his hand along the underside of her breasts. Her bra was made of some silky material. Hermione’s breath was becoming labored. Him touching her like that was pure torture. Slowly, he moved his hands to cup her breasts. She gasped and he jumped back as though burned.

 

“N-no, Ron,” she said, quickly. “Don’t stop, please.”

 

“Are you sure?” he asked, hesitantly.

 

With that, she lifted her jumper over her head and tossed it to the foot of the bed. Ron couldn’t breathe. 

 

“Y-your bra is red,” he said, amazed. He had fanaticized about her in what he believed was every way possible, in various states of dress and undress, but he had never in a million years imagined her in a red bra. It was just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

 

“Scarlet,” she said, her cheeks looking rather scarlet themselves.

 

He looked confused. “Scarlet?”

 

“Gryffindor colors,” she said. “I wear it every match for luck.”

 

Ron groaned. “I’ll never save another goal knowing you’re wearing this underneath your clothes.”

 

He kissed her again and she was almost afraid of the intensity of the kiss. He was echoing back everything she felt for him. It was wonderful but overwhelming. He was still reluctant to touch her, though and it was getting rather frustrating for her.

 

“It’s okay, Ron, really,” she said.

 

He nodded and ran his hands slowly over her breasts. It was better than he’d ever imagined. The flesh spilling over the top of the cups was so soft. He brushed his thumb over her nipple and she let out a gasp. He swallowed hard. He thought he’d never hear her make noises like that. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his face to her chest and nuzzled her other breast through her bra while continuing to stroke her nipple with his fingers.

 

“Oh…oh God, Ron,” she moaned.

 

He leaned back and looked at her face. The candlelight from the wall sconces that lit the room softened her features, and she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Her cheeks were so flushed. Her swollen pink lips were parted slightly as she breathed heavily. He was looking for any indication that he shouldn’t keep going, any sign that he had gone too far, when she reached up, took his face in her hands, and pulled him into another deep kiss. He groaned and kissed her back. He couldn’t believe this. After all the years of dreaming of snogging her and touching her on his very bed, she was here and letting him do things to her he never thought she’d ever let him do. He continued to caress her breast through the thin fabric of her bra, loving the noises she was making in the back of her throat.

 

Her hands were wandering his body, his chest and his back. It was incredible. A heat was rising through his body that he’d never felt before. He loved her and he wanted her, and at this moment his feelings were clearer than they had ever been. 

 

He mindlessly let his hand trail down her body until he reached the hem of her skirt. Her breath hitched and for a moment, he thought he had gone too far and that she was going to slap him or at least stop him. He nearly died of shock when she whimpered and kissed him even harder in response, entwining her fingers into his hair. That was all the encouragement he needed. He let his hand creep slowly up her silky thigh. He could feel her warmth as he moved closer to her center. He swore inwardly, unable to believe she was going to let him touch her _there_.  They were kissing each other hungrily, relentlessly. He was inches away from her knickers when he heard the door creak open. 

 

“Oi, Ron, have you seen…shit!” said Harry, just having walked through the door and looking horrified at the scene in front of him. “Whoa! I am so sorry. Seamus said you were…He didn’t say…I’ll just go.”

 

Ron was now incredibly thankful he hadn’t made his bed that morning. He pulled his quilt quickly over Hermione and sat at the edge of his bed blocking her from view. One look at her face was enough to see that Hermione was absolutely mortified. 

 

“D-did you need something Harry?” Ron asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

 

Harry coughed and turned his back to them. “A couple of fourth years got a hold of some Firewhiskey. Ginny said to find Hermione. N-no one had seen her but Seamus said he thought he saw you come up here… If I’d have known, mate…”

 

Hermione located her jumper and quickly slipped it over her head “It’s all right. I’m going.” 

 

She leapt off the bed and darted toward the door, brushing past Harry and entering the narrow hallway.

 

“Hermione, your…er, jumper is inside out,” he said, blushing scarlet and not meeting her eye.

 

She looked back at him with a horrified expression.

 

“You can use the loo to straighten up a bit, if you want,” Ron said, gesturing toward a door down the hallway.

 

“Thanks,” she said blushing furiously.

 

She dashed off and Harry turned to look at Ron, his eyes large as saucers. “Y-you…you and Hermione…”

 

“Relax, we weren’t doing _that_.”

 

“Bloody hell, Ron! You had your hand up her skirt.”

 

“Bugger, I didn’t think you saw that,” Ron said lightly.

 

Harry pushed him inside back inside the dorm and shut the door. “What were you thinking?”

 

“Come on, Harry,” Ron said, running his hand through his hair. “It’s no big deal. I mean, Ginny says it’s obvious that she and I fancy each other. Surely you…”

 

“No big deal? She’s our friend, Ron.” Harry shouted.  “Hermione isn’t like Lavender. You can’t just use her for a snog anytime you’re feeling a bit randy.”

 

Ron stood threateningly close to Harry, his eyes blazing. “That isn’t what I meant. You know I wouldn’t do that to her. You know I wouldn’t do anything if I didn’t lo…”

 

Ron turned away. The tips of his ears turned bright red and Harry’s eyes widened even further.

 

“Are you saying that you love her, then?”

 

Ron snorted in what he hoped was a dismissive tone. He busied himself with fluffing the pillows on his bed.

 

“You just said you wouldn’t do anything if you didn’t...”

 

“Fine,” Ron snapped. “Fine, I do. Okay?”

 

“Have you told her yet?”

 

Ron kept his back to Harry. It was much easier to explain if he didn’t have to look at him. Since when did they talk about this sort of thing anyway? This had to be Ginny’s influence. She was the nosiest git he’d ever met. Nevertheless, Ron decided to come clean. If he’d caught Harry and Ginny in the same position, God forbid, he reckoned he’d want to know his intentions as well.

 

“No, I’ve wanted to since last year, but I really screwed up with the Lavender thing and I was pleased that she was even talking to me again. Then tonight, I swear I just brought her up to talk. We both got a little tipsy from the butterbeer and she looked so…you know, pretty… in the candlelight,” he trailed off.

 

“So you kissed her,” Harry said, seeming to understand.

 

“Yeah, and things just got out of hand fast, like one of our rows. I didn’t mean for it to go so far. Wait a second. You don’t think she thinks I…Shit!” Ron sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hand. “I guess I buggered things up again, didn’t I?”

 

Harry suddenly felt very guilty for what he had said earlier. “No, mate. I’m sure it’s fine. Just tell her what you told me, about how you…you know, love her. She…I’m sure she’ll…”

 

“She already knows,” Hermione said, from the doorway. 

 

Ron and Harry both started, not having heard the door open or her enter the room. She strolled over to the bed and collected her wand from Ron’s rumpled sheets. Hermione took Ron’s face into her hands and kissed him briefly on the lips. “And I love you, too,” she said.

 

Then with quick smile, she turned and walked quickly down to the common room, leaving a pleased Ron and befuddled Harry in her wake.

    

 

 


End file.
